


All I Know

by wordpunk



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6090943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordpunk/pseuds/wordpunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"sick of the lack of signal, sick of the lack of touch, sick of the static voices - it's not enough"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The lights of 1950s Beverly Hills shimmered against Howard Stark's living room windows. It didn't rain in Los Angeles often.

"All I know is the minute I met her, I wished she wasn't taken," Peggy said. She took a long draw of whiskey and looked away from the sight. It reminded her far too much of the home she used to know back in Brooklyn, with the SSR, and so much of her heart.

Howard Stark shifted in one of his plush, leather chairs. "Well-"

"And don't say I can "work around the word 'taken'", Howard," Peggy added. She narrowed her gaze, trying her damnedest  
to outwit the womanizer in the room.

"I was _going_ to say that it struck me your immediate thought wasn't "I wish she was mine"," he said. "It sounds like you had already given up. And that's not the Peg, I know."

"Hmm." Peggy toyed with the bottle on the side table, contemplating further depths of the drink.

"Maybe, I say it like this:" Howard sat up, putting his drink down, but caring not to remove his hand. "I think you still have a chance."

Peggy scoffed, "Like hell." She slid off the arm of the couch where she had been perched. "Sadly, it appears as though Angie and Marta are endgame," she said, resolved. 

"Goodnight, Howard." She took up the bottle and her empty glass, carrying them over to Howard's trolley. He had one in every room.

"Endgame schmendgame!" Howard called after Peggy's retreating back. He hooked a finger around the telephone and turned it up to his ear.

"Jarvis."

"Yes, Mr. Stark," the careful, English voice replied.

Across the country in New York, dawn was breaking and Edwin Jarvis was already in his golfing attire. 

A woman's voice carried on in the background, singing Doris Day's "Secret Love".

"Ya gotta get Angie out here," came Howard's tired and tinny voice from the line.

"I don't believe that will be possible what with Miss Martinelli's schedule. Besides, I'm close to getting her properly trained at golf."

"Now, listen here, Jarvis. She doesn't need to be able to beat me at golf. I'm only asking for the weekend," Howard rattled. He rose and walked to his bay windows, looking down at the quiet streets below. "Get her away from that Marta woman."

"I do believe she's quite content with Marta."

"Yeah, and we were all content with Truman at some point."

Jarvis rolled his eyes. Never was Howard more cranky than without his butler by his side. "Mr. Stark, is there anything else I can do for you?"

Howard turned away, pouring himself another drink and making eye contact with the grandfather clock in the hall. Four in the morning.

"Play your round and think of something. I can't stand seeing Peggy so lonely."

Jarvis took on a worried look as the singing voice grew near. _"So I told a friendly star, the way that dreamers often do,"_ Angie Martinelli, looking polished in light blue trousers, her hair in curls skipped through the marbled entryway past Jarvis. She winked, pulling a club from her bag and poking him in the side.

"Ooopf!" Jarvis gathered himself, startled but smiling. "I understand, sir. I'll see what I can do." He hung up the phone and turned to the glowing woman, offering an arm.

In a dark, California den, Howard sighed and returned the phone to its receiver.


	2. Satisfied

The grass glistened with dew on Long Island. A soft breeze blew through Angie Martinelli’s hair as she screwed her face up against the early sun. She stared at a distant flag.

“Doesn’t look so bad this time around,” she turned back toward Jarvis, a few yards behind, looking very proud in brown tweed.

“Miss Martinelli, were I to have a single ounce of your confidence, why-“

“Why, I’d be dragging your proper English tuckus to my auditions. The American boys coming up in the theatre these days are downright pigs!” Angie spouted off, lining up her shot.

“An incomprehensible disappointment,” Jarvis gave a light roll of his eyes.

“Oh, right,” Angie said. “I forget you live with the biggest, um most...generous, one of all.” 

She adjusted her stance. _It’s just another of dance,_ she would tell herself. _This one’s all in the hips._ Which got Angie thinking about someone else’s hips, swaying in the soft shadows of alleys in the theatre district, pressing passionate hands back into the sweating bricks of a New York summer night. Angie swung, _hard_.

“Excellent form, Miss Martinelli,”

The _"thwack"_ of her own momentum brought Angie back to the glaring grey morning.

“Ya think?”

“Howard would be impressed.”

“I ain’t out to impress Howard.”

“Marta, then." he countered, seizing an opportunity. "How is she these days? You don’t make much mention.”

Abruptly, Angie took off down the green, Jarvis and bag in startled tow.

“She doesn’t make much mention either. I haven’t properly talked to the gal since opening night.”

“Not one for a little backstage romance?”

“Jesus. Jarvis, you know I’d hop a fly rail for the right girl in a heartbeat,”

“How does one hop a- Nevermind. Nothing at all?” his eyes weren't hopeful. Nope. Not at all.

“Nada.” Angie swung her club over her shoulder, just missing Jarvis’s nose. “As if we’re in completely different theatres across the country.”

\- 

Peggy’s eyebrows rose in her sleep, eyes fluttering open to peek at the clock next to her bed. Fifteen whole minutes since she’d lain down.

The rain had ceased, leaving quite an annoying drip to settle in on the windowsill. 

Peggy watched as a drop’s reflection fell across a painting in her room. Her eyes felt sore, not from crying, but from so many nights of the same routine.

Come home, eat a robust dinner, drink and bellyache with Howard, stay awake thinking on Steve, Sousa, Michael, the SSR, Jarvis, Rose, that donut shop tucked away on a quiet avenue in Brooklyn, and Angie. She never imagined being unable to control homesickness. She hadn’t much needed to before.

Sure, she could talk to Howard until she was blue in the face, but it didn’t compare to her late night talks with Angie. 

Peggy rolled over, imagining all they’d do if the girl were just here to spend time. Ice cream in the park, take in a show off Sunset, sneak onto Howard’s studio and play pretend. _All very childish things,_ the common sense in Peggy tried to say. _But needed,_ her heart intoned.

“Okay. Enough,” she sighed, sitting up in bed. After a deep breath, she dropped to the floor and began a round of silk pajama pushups.

\- 

Angie eyed her ball, now just feet away from the hole, on hands and knees. She was still playing this whole sport by ear, but putting on a show for Jarvis had seemed to satiate the butler.

“Easy peezy,” she sat up, dusting off her trousers. Lining up the shot, she took an uncalculated jerk at the ball, just missing the target. “Shoot!” Angie yelled, loud enough to rouse a seagull nearby.

“Perhaps next time, Miss Martinelli?”

“Oh, would ya just call me Angie for chrisssakes?” she mopped a light sweat from the back of her neck.

“Angie. A perfect game, I see now, may be a boring feat for such a gifted artist.” He stared at the settling gull, a bit too jaded by his following thought. “They never seem to be satisfied.”

Angie looked back at the bird, confused, completely missing his point.

“Well, ya get what ya put in, and I say we’ve had a great morning of practice,” she smiled at Jarvis, returning her putter. “As always you’ve been a worthwhile teacher.”

“And you a worthy pupil.” He shouldered the bag, relived of his deeper thoughts. “Let’s get you cleaned up for rehearsal.”

Angie skipped across the green, childlike in all her bliss.


End file.
